Apologizing for not paying adequate attention to a blog is like spitting into a serious headwind. So I'll just skip that mess and pivot to mentioning some of what's been up with my work since I last posted here many months ago.

Earlier this month, I published a cover story in Seattle Weekly. The focus on a number of animal rights activists I've gotten to know over the years served as a news peg upon which to hang a whole range of subjects. There's more coming in that publication and (most likely) others to effectively pull excerpts from the research I'm compiling in my book, Pelting Out. These are volatile times in the fur trade, no matter how beneath the radar that world remains. Stay tuned for much more on that and everything book-related.

Thanks are due to everyone who've repeatedly asked about my Field Agent work with Atlas Obscura in Seattle. I haven't put together another event since my fourth ran in May. Those ideas continue to percolate. However, a refocus upon my writing through the summer and fall was required. I continue to keep an eye on the good work being done by AO here and internationally. A cash infusion in August from A&E Network and their associated VCs means AO's platform will continue to build out into the multimedia landscape. If you haven't checked out what they're up to recently, please do so.

I'll post some of the media exposure I earned from my "Grunge Redux" idea elsewhere on this site. What's become obvious to me is an unmet demand for thoughtful, regularly-scheduled walking/talking/interactive tours of Seattle. Since my first grunge-era tour in March, I've led a number of fascinating groups around the City. The education proved to be a two-way street. Thanks to the help of many experts and new friends, I've added countless stories to that burgeoning quiver. What started for me as a labor of love morphed into a portal to better understand Seattle's broader cultural history. In the near future, I'm planning to launch a more direct website for scheduling regular experiences under the umbrella of my "Grunge Redux" history. Stay tuned for more on that...or lob me a question if you're interested in what's coming down that pike...I've got some fun things planned.

On a personal note, I'm also excited about being back in school, heading to Italy for a family trip in November, and the prospect of reviving my much-shared YearEnder for 2017. With everything we've been collectively living through, social satire seems like a healthy avenue for exploration. "May you live in interesting times" seems like both useful wisdom and "be careful what you wish for" up-to-the-moment advice. We all cope as we must. I tell stories. And I will continue to do so.

Thanks for checking in. Be well. And rock on.

It has been months since my last post here. Months. Yet don't let that absence of content fool you. I've been focusing myself on other outlets, including my work with Atlas Obscura. The work I'm doing there...and just did in that capacity last night leading a walking-and-talking event I called "Grunge Redux"...is what I want to expound upon here. All the work I put in should cross-pollenate my prior work, in a perfect world. Not to put too fine a point on it, but I'm feeling like the world is rather perfect right now. So why not write about it, mmmkay?

I start from the top. I loved grunge music. There. I embrace the idiom. Grunge has been vilified and come back in fashion and seen all sorts of wrong-headed attempts at burial or resurrection. But for me, the music I experienced both here in Seattle and during my college years in Minnesota holds a special place in my memory bank. So I planned an event with our Seattle chapter of Atlas Obscura meant to focus upon what and where Seattle's music was in the mid-'80s to later-'90s. It was a rather bold move. Anything easily mockable can be flipped as being called bold. But if I was going to do it, I was going to jump into the mosh pit with reckless abandon. I'm glad to say that I managed to come out the other side with nary a scratch on me.

If you want another person's view of what I did in preview form, check out the feature that ran in "The Stranger" this week. For the record, I've done the other tour featured. That one's more for tourists. Not that there's anything wrong with that. I had a nice couple from Ecuador in the van with me and the tour guide, Charity, on the day I did it. They were all lovely. But I wasn't going to get into a discussion about "grunge" as a noun and "Seattle" as an adjective there. That was the sort of thing I tried to do during my Seattle Obscura Society event, as we made our way through Belltown on a lovely early Spring Friday evening.

Some bottom line logistics, first of all. With regard to my gig as a "Field Agent" with Atlas Obscura. I am tasked with coming up with original programming that currently amounts to one event per month on average. I like to think of it as "immersive longform journalism" that focuses very much upon places and the history behind those physical locations. Because I work with the Seattle Obscura Society, my events are all about Seattle. I've got a wide berth with AO. I'm very impressed with the NYC-based leadership of the company, along with our local talent and leadership. Please check out the website for upcoming events. Often. Because things will be going up there with expanding variety in the months ahead. I'm pleased to say that my next event sold out just a few days after being announced. It takes some time to build a brand, and AO's built something good since launching in 2009. I'm proud to be a part of what we're building here in Seattle.

Secondly, I want to offer a very quick overview of the actual places we visited during a 2+ hour tour. We started at the historic Moore Theatre. We walked to Sub Pop Records' current World Headquarters...as always with Sub Pop...the grandiosity shtick comes with their very hip and hilarious tongue firmly planted in their cheek. We stopped for a quick drink in the backbar at The Crocodile. We walked past some sights in Belltown, and had to skip a planned stop at The 5 Point Cafe because we were running late. We walked through the Seattle Center, passing by landmarks like the Mural Amphitheatre. And we got a full tour of KEXP's gorgeous new studios and public spaces.

I could have talked for twice as long, given the amount of material I'd prepared in the course of my research. Seattle during the grunge era was a helluva thing to behold, and I fully realize that I only truly experienced the tail end of it. Thankfully, many of the people who were here then and longer are still around, and proved willing in some cases to talk about it. But even more impressive to me in the course of researching this event was the realization that Seattle's ongoing music and cultural contributions are so varied and full of positivity. This really was an event that drew from the past, looked around at the present, and allowed for a healthy consideration of the future.

With that said, I'm moving onto my next obsessions for AO. I have many people to thank for helping me wrap my brain around "Grunge Redux" as a concept that became a formative reality. They know who they are, and they continue to rock. I'll leave it at that. Other than to say that I'm going to offer this event again on down the road. After I do some thinking about how to better tell the stories that I now hold so dear, while still pointing to the experts and professionals who really do the work that allows for the vinyl to get on the turntables and the musicians to crush it in front of the fans, day after glorious day.

Blogs fall by the wayside every day. Energy gets focused elsewhere, you don't think anyone's reading, life invades. I get it. Even as I fight against it. But I just want everyone who somehow found this to know that I'm not letting this one go entirely. I've spent years posting things on this and a hardy handful of blogs prior. I'll (hopefully) always do so. It just may seem fewer and farther between posts. Don't question the sincerity, though. I'm just focused elsewhere, much of the time.

Just a few more hours are left of the flaming cartwheel of 2016. Dickens's "Tale of Two Cities" masterstroke opener certainly deserves a revisitation, as I've done on more than one contemplative occasion over the years.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way—in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.

I will have much more to say about what's to be seen in our collective rearview mirror...the return of my annual YearEnder shall soon surface...and I'm leaning into what's to come in 2017 with excitement and a thankful spirit. May your own snap of this day's wishbone draw well. Good riddance to bleakness and loss. Be merry, humane and well.

I'm always struck by the immediacy of the energy in NYC. All you can do is step fully into the stream and try to keep up. That was the case with my full day of work and play yesterday. Before I fully launch myself back into it again today, a few things deserve mention.

I wandered the streets of Soho yesterday. High, low and in-between there's a surprisingly furry fetish on display. Which may be behind the anecdotal complaints leveled at certain retailers. Most obviously, Canada Goose. They're opening a new retail store in a few weeks. Their use of coyote fur trim has recently and increasingly raised the hackles of the animal rights community. I realize that Canada Goose has almost single-handedly driven the trade in coyote pelts over the last few years and that their 2015 sales were huge. But I noticed at least a half dozen retailers within a few blocks with furry fashions in their windows. Once again, symbolism means a lot. In terms of targets and trends. Sucks to be the industry leader sometimes, I guess.

Without getting too into the details of my interactions with sources new and old yesterday, I must say that there's a vitality in re-entering that arena that I've dearly missed. It's my jam. Although there's an obvious cost associated with talking to people who disagree with you on almost instinctual terms, I believe in the value of that experience. If I didn't, why would I seek it out? I wish for everyone similarly inspiring pursuits.

In terms of pure entertainment, I attended a taping of the Stephen Colbert's show that went on way too long. It was definitely a case of losing a taste for sausage after seeing how it's made. I still adore what Colbert is capable of doing. I was stoked to see Samantha Bee show up to record a bit, and my heart aches for Patton Oswalt in his current state of grief. Yet unquestionably the best cultural moment of the day was seeing "Moonlight" at the Lincoln Square multiplex. Don't miss that movie. It's stunningly good.

I'd better roll. Research doesn't get done by osmosis. Thanks for picking through a few of my on-the-road thoughts. Be well.

I've been meaning to promote a new healthy obsession of mine, even if the relation to my broader work for Pelting Out seems tenuous. I'm a big fan of Atlas Obscura. If you're not familiar with what they do, you should poke around their catalog of over 10,000 places across the globe. The unique locales and stories they collect are right up my alley. In addition to the website, AO has plans for world domination. Or at least hopes of opening compelling "Societies" in various cities. Such as NYC...where they began. LA. Chicago. You get the idea. Thankfully, Seattle's also launched an Obscura Society. And I'm starting a new gig with them as a Field Agent, developing local events that will offer some unique insights into Seattle's quirky awesomeness. Stay tuned for details related to my first events in early 2017...a walking tour of Seattle musical influences in the '90s...a dichotomous tour of the Klondike Gold Rush influence on Pioneer Square and the site of the Alaska-Yukon Expedition originally meant to celebrate the 10th anniversary of that rush. The history I've found in putting these ideas together fascinates me. Odds are it might have the same effect upon you.

I've been somewhat remiss in posting here the last few weeks. Grand plans delayed not derailed...in part because of my AO thinking...along with the prep work needed to head out on my current trip. My current struggles with the in-flight WiFi over Wisconsin are just part of the journey to NYC. I've got equal parts research and running lined up. Running-wise, I'm doing the TCSNYC Marathon on Sunday. Research-wise, I'm also neck deep in plans for a few busy days of interviewing and exploring. Check back for some shared fruits of those labors. I promise.

Here's hoping your own gig also currently fills you with great promise.

In their September issue, National Geographic Magazine published a story about the global fur trade. Richard Conniff offered a measured, well-written account of what he found in reporting on that premise. Conniff also copped to his ancestry - his grandfather was a wild fur trapper. He observed that for some people, that would constitute bias on the broader subject of whether the fur trade should be discussed and if he's equipped to be an honest arbiter of its inherent issues.

Been there, heard that.

I do a serious amount of soul searching on the subject of inherent bias. From the very start of this project, I've concentrated considerable energy on getting to know the arguments against my ancestors' choice of business. I've gotten to know activists who take a variety of actions against animal industries, some of which are illegal and have resulted in criminal convictions. I've nonetheless experienced empathy, outrage and the full range of emotions lying somewhere along the continuum between those polarized reactions.

In the weeks ahead, I plan to introduce what I learned from the animal rights community. I will also further introduce the various components of the fur trade that I've seen firsthand over the past five years of research. I know that some readers will see me as ill-equipped to be objective. I will nonetheless endeavor to tell a series of honest stories related to this premise. By doing so, I choose to enter the arena with questions that have no easy answers. Maybe answers aren't even the point. I hope you will check back to see what may be learned from that story. Even if only to see how much you disagree with what I have to share, or to laugh at the lengths I've traveled to gather a story I found to be surprisingly relatable.

I don't assume I will change the perceived bias some will ascribe to me. I'm a storyteller. This story is mine to tell. If you see something that trips a cord for you, I invite you to let me know. Be well.

I was very psyched to hear that NPR is broadcasting a collaborative collection of Studs Terkel's interviews from his legendary book Working. No one did the job of collecting real stories from real workers with real empathy better than Terkel. Just hearing a portion of a single interview from "The Working Tapes" made me question just about every interview I ever conducted in anything like a similar vein. I suspect anyone who's ever attempted to capture such portraits feels the same tinge of a respectful burn. As a tribute to him, I'll offer a semi-relatable example from my trip five years ago to Hong Kong.

I was told long ago to seek somewhere to get an actual "chop" made. Chops (or signature seals) are the Chinese ink stamps dating back to 1000 B.C. that are used to personalize and formally sign everything from business documents to personal correspondence. When I arrived in Hong Kong, I knew I only had a handful of days to do so. One of my guide books said that over on Hong Kong Island...a totally manageable subway ride across Victoria Bay from the Kowloon District where we were staying...there was a place called "Chop Alley" where dozens of merchants still worked at the craft of making chops out of marble.

I made the mistake of showing up on a Saturday evening, when many of the merchants were shutting down. Soon enough, however, I found a pair of obvious Westerners in business attire walking in the same direction. I struck up a conversation and, sure enough, they were heading to pick up some chops they'd had made by a man who they recommended highly. They were lawyers from the U.S., and spoke Cantonese. Score one for random luck.

Soon we were talking with their guy, a gruff-looking pro who I'd never have picked in a million visits to Chop Alley. He was initially puzzled by the awkward nature of converting "Eric" to the appropriate characters. He used a diary-sized book with all the translations for what seemed like countless Western names. I easily found ones for my wife and daughter. I was even able using my new friends to pick the "most auspicious" version of my wife's name, which is still one of my favorite useful details from the exchange. But no Eric. So with some creative coaching from my friends, we got him to understand how to phonetically translate my name. They even wrote that translation in English, Cantonese and Mandarin along the margin.

I was told that he didn't work on Sundays, but he make an exception to meet me early the next morning. I showed up at the appointed time, just a few hours before needing to hop our bus to the airport. After paying the non-negotiable price...a detail I loved in comparison with the often haggling-obsessed nature of most Chinese transactions...I hung around and watched him work on some others. Carving out characters from marble is amazing to see done. Along the way, he explained what he was doing. I didn't understand a word, but I would've loved to stay there for hours. When I realized I had to hoof it back to the hotel, I made all the universal gestures for "gotta go" and offered up my thanks. He patted me on the back, repeatedly saying "Eric" with an increasingly clear pronunciation. I couldn't repay the compliment because I never got his name. I think I kept saying "Friend" as I repeated the gesture. Because I meant it. Here's a few pics of the actual handover of the finished product.

My "friend" the chop maker, surrounded by his wares, testing one of the chops made to order for me.

I can only hope another "Eric" shows up at some point to put my friend's pronunciation to the test.

I regret not being able to do full a Studs Terkel-type interview with a translator to better understand this man's work. Since Hong Kong was my port of exit before heading back to the States, this was really the final interaction I had on a trip that was largely driven by a desire to understand the manufacturing and culture there. Broadly speaking, I like to think that I learned much about China on that trip. I can only imagine what's observable differences have characterized the past five years, given the dizzying pace of constant change there. Here's hoping I get to go back soon to test that hypothesis. And to head back to Chop Alley.

The view of Hong Kong Island from the deck of a boat on Victoria Bay, on our last night's excursion to the fishing and restaurant-filled community on Lamma Island.

And on the way back to Hong Kong City that same night. Until my next visit, China...take good care of yourself.

PEN America yesterday released a chilling, illuminating report on the increasingly difficult environment foreign journalists face when reporting from present-day China. When I was there precisely five years ago, I wasn't working as a journalist or trying to post anything to a blog or Facebook or Twitter or a newsy site in any form. Nonetheless, I couldn't access any of those sites or the like given the "Great Firewall" the Chinese government relies upon. According to PEN America's study, it's since gotten a helluva lot worse for people trying to pursue and publish stories. What better time for me to offer a taste of what I was pursuing then, as I continue to research and write about it from a safe distance.

After spending close to a week in Beijing, I traveled with my group of 40 foreigners to Shanghai. We were officially there to see the Chinese part of the global fur trade. We spent our days being spoon-fed locations that surely were allowed for only with government approval. One particular excursion from our temporary base in Shanghai gave me a chance for some off the leash wandering. We were taken by tour bus to a small coastal city named Yuyao. It would have been indistinguishable from the other sprawling population centers radiating out from Shanghai, had it not been for the existence of a major fur garment manufacturing facility plopped amidst the maze-like residential "hutongs" and rapidly gentrifying blocks of factories. What we saw inside that facility and the adjacent "wholesale mall" of retailers was unlike anything I saw up close in China. In my book Pelting Out, you will learn much more about what I saw and learned there. For now, here's a few pics to whet your appetite.

Just in case visitors are confused about what the majority of the goods they're buying comes from, the China Fur Market in Yuyao offers a reminder. It felt and looked like an empty outlet mall.

Up in the main manufacturing warehouse, workers match cut pieces of pelts to larger garment patterns.

This type of manufacturing requires lots of nails, and lots of precision.

I was struck by the diverse workforce...drawn from many parts of China from what I was told...populating this specialized manufacturing trade.

After some touring as a group within the factory, our group was encouraged to go shopping within the connected mall. I used this open time to wander into the nearby neighborhood. This wasn't approved...or formally discouraged...yet it didn't take long for me to feel unwelcome. A few blocks of shops radiated out from the China Fur Market, getting shabbier as the distance from the center grew. Soon the fur goods shops ended and what I came to recognize (not by experience, I assure you) as sex worker shops began. These mini-brothels all had the same sliding glass patio doors behind which stood women ready to greet visitors. The doors would open with that signature "swoosh," that is the universal sound of a sliding door running along its track. When the workers caught sight of me...a pale Westerner with my Canon camera slung over over my shoulder...the sliding chorus was all I could hear over the neighborhood traffic. Not long after, I garnered a few curious men tailing behind me. I could sense I'd ventured a bit too far into the unguided, so I turned back toward the security of the business-lined blocks. Along the way, I noticed fur garment patterns nailed to plywood outlines laid out in every available area. There weren't any customers. And there definitely weren't any other Westerners.

Any available surface is a good enough surface for the neighborhood's workers to lay out patterned goods in process.

Luckily nothing unwelcome or unkind happened to me while exploring around China in pursuit of my chosen subject. According to PEN America's reporting, however, way too many other writers haven't been so fortunate while trying to work there. Here's hoping everyone working in a safe locale this Friday evening raises their voices and glasses to those in China and elsewhere endeavoring to tell stories that matter. Wherever you're exploring, I look forward to sharing new stories with y'all next week.

My mind has recently been on the manufacturing side of the fur trade. Since it would take a whole lot more effort to travel back to China to see where much of that occurs, there seemed to be no better time than today to visit one of Seattle's own garment manufacturers to see the action. C.C. Filson's Pioneer Alaska Clothing and Blanket Manufacturers opened here in Seattle in the 1890s..now you can just call them Filson...eventually fueled by the Klondike Gold Rush and the demand for goods to equip those often futile dreamers needing gear to stave off death. Long before Velcro or GoreTex or REI Cooperative or the broad categories of competing goods and manufacturers were close to seeing the bushels of money to be made from selling a "lifestyle", Filson made a name for themselves making quality survival/adventure gear. Thanks to a recent infusion of private equity and the influx of consumer interest in the trappings of the modern lumbersexual, Filson is seemingly thriving. So much so that they offer a cute but at best cursory tour of their factory a few times each week. Here's a quick peek at the manufacturing going on just downstairs from their seriously sexy retail showroom.

I love the splash of floral color amidst the otherwise industrial sewing stations.

The main product seen in production here was Filson's line of luggage and messenger bags. Much of their apparel is made in another factory, also located in Seattle.

Their retail store also features the "Filson Restoration Department" doing the work of turning many old, less-functional products into new, even-more-overpriced one-of-a-kind keepsakes. I'm not complaining...this sort of bespoke manufacturing is something I believe bespeaks of worthy reclaimation...although the $150 canvas and leather-bottomed "Ditty Bag" did chafe my mast a bit. The larger point being, seeing goods made close to home is worth the trip. No matter what materials are being used.

The scary news from NYC over the past few days drew the attention of many Americans, myself included. Beyond thoughts of "new normal" urban threats, it also brought to mind a dual set of personal memories. I feel fortunate to have gotten to know that part of Manhattan somewhat over the last handful of years. I've walked the streets of Chelsea where the bombing took place and where the other pressure cooker bomb was discovered nearby. What drew me there was the fact that the old garment center and the concentration of manufacturing of what had sometimes been called the "fur district" not so long ago occupied many of those blocks.

One of many crossroads in what had been NYC's "fur district" within the historic Garment Center near Midtown.

It isn't easy to cover my understanding of the long and fascinating history of that part of Manhattan in a quick blog post, so please excuse the gaps in my reasoning. But this unfortunate current news story also brought me back to what I saw five years ago today on the streets of Beijing, where what some call the "skins trade" is currently present. In a nutshell, what formerly was seen all over NYC's Garment Center is now a hard to find but active part of Beijing's street trade. I went back through some old photo libraries to offer the following pics to summarize what I'm referring to.

One of many storefronts in the skins trade district in Beijing.

A typical showroom floor for a merchant selling the raw commodity of pelts to manufacturers.

The overly-simplified next step in this trade sees those raw skins enter the manufacturing process. For an up-close example of this, I was taken by our tour bus to a factory outside Beijing where dozens of Chinese workers do the work of turning that commodity into a finished product. Once again, here's a few examples.

Garment cutters at work.

Notice the strips sewn to fit the pattens pieces that will become part of a larger garment.

In the days ahead, I will better explain what I learned of this garment manufacturing process. For now, I thought it might be a worthwhile introduction as we all grapple with what happened in NYC over the weekend. Beijing is a long ways from Chelsea. Yet they are connected by this trade's history and the basic human element of real people doing real jobs. No matter what people may think of the manufacture of these goods, either then or now.